


Inseparable

by writerllofllworlds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Peter Parker, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Fluff, Foster Care, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentioned Ben Parker, Nicknames, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pain, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22766488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerllofllworlds/pseuds/writerllofllworlds
Summary: “I’ll survive,” Peter shrugged off the pain. It was a skill most kids his age did not have, that horrible ability to shoulder the pain like it was nothing. Years of loss did that to you. “I always do.”Rhodey tapped his chin. “You will. We’re survivors. That’s what Starks do, right? ”Warmth bloomed in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 46
Kudos: 727
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	Inseparable

**Author's Note:**

> WOW TWO WORKS IN ONE WEEK I'M ON A ROLE
> 
> That probably means this is all you're getting for a solid month. 
> 
> I'm kidding. Kind of. 
> 
> Love you guys 3000! I hope you enjoy!

How many funerals can someone attend by the age of fourteen before it is considered a lot? Peter did not know why that particular thought stumbled into his grief addled brain as Ben’s coffin was slowly lowered into its final resting place, but it did. Each time this happened, his grief was different. With his parents, it had been hot and wet and overwhelming. He had felt like he was burning because of the scorching pain all over his body. May had been dreary, cold, completely the opposite of watching Richard and Mary disappear under shovels of dirt. They had never had enough time, them two, even though they fit perfectly. May had made Peter better, stronger, kinder. She had taught him to be a gentleman, to clean up after himself, to hold the door. She had taught him what it was like to put everyone else ahead of you. She taught him to be selfless. Ned’s funeral was, in one word, suffocating. Surrounded by his loving family, Peter had never felt more out of place. Even though Ned was only thirteen, he had left a lasting impression on so many people. A sea of black stood out against the green grass of the cemetery and Peter had almost vomited over the realization that his best friend had left him too. 

Ben’s grief was numb. It was a kind of suffering that he had not known before. The sun was blazing, the sky was blue, and yet all he could feel was grey. Each breath was a puff of air. It meant nothing now. Not when Uncle Ben had a hole through his chest that Peter had put there. If he had just stopped the robber, none of this would have happened. If he had just stayed with his class, there would have been no spider to bite him. There would be no freak accident or monstrous powers. 

There would be no Ben in a casket. 

Ben’s grief was indifferent. It did not care when people walked up to him and put hands on his shoulders or offered their condolences. It did not even blink when one of his uncle’s coworkers crumbled into sobs upon grasping his hand. It remained unfazed as one well-wisher after another told him meaningless niceties and comforting words that everyone with a brain knew were worth nothing. 

It was odd for someone like Peter, who felt things so deeply it hurt to breathe sometimes, to feel  _ nothing _ . 

He stayed there for hours after everyone else had gone, uncaring that rain had begun to fall. Only when the Social Securities worker arrived did he move an inch. He turned, finally tearing his eyes away from the headstone to walk towards the parked car that had appeared with the nicely dressed woman. She was talking about temporary arrangements and gathering his things from the apartment. Peter could not bother to listen. 

All he could think about were the words engraved on that grey stone. 

Benjamin Franklin Parker. 

  
  


Peter went to seven different foster homes in the four months following Ben’s death. Each time was the same: Peter would arrive, get his hopes up, and then be sent off soon after. The longest he had remained in one place was three and a half weeks, but they too had gotten rid of him in the end. The one constant was Spiderman. 

After making a suit (admittedly, a crummy one, but what else could he do?), he had taken to the streets like lightning, swearing that no other fourteen-year-old kid would have to suffer as he had. No ten year old would lose their aunt to an alien invasion. No nephew’s hands would be stained by the blood of an uncle he loved. The people of Queens loved him, and when he packed his bags again, he reminded himself that even though they did not know him or his story, the people of New York had his back. 

Finally, the foster care system landed him in Steven Westcott’s care. He had introduced himself as Skip, and he seemed like a cool guy. He was a graduate from Harvard, and he and Peter hit it off well. They would discuss the kinds of things that got Peter’s mind racing - chemistry, math, law. Sometimes their weekends were spent solely watching crime shows or reading mystery novels. For the first time in months, Peter felt like he belonged somewhere. 

Then the fallout. 

He should have noticed by the way Skip’s hands lingered. They would trace over Peter’s shoulders softly, like a caress, and in the beginning, Peter was just thrilled to have someone willing to hold him as Ben and May had. Skip would kiss his forehead, his cheek, sometimes “miss” and hit the young boy’s lips by “mistake”. If a hand happened to stray too far down, front or back, the man would blame it on whatever alcohol he had consumed or not address it at all. Peter, desperate for someone to love him, was none the wiser. 

As the months dragged on, he discovered that the touches were  _ nothing  _ like his aunt and uncle. They were cold and brash and left red marks on Peter’s fair skin. They were rough, holding him down and covering his mouth. The caresses became harsh grips and the kisses became hot and everywhere he did not want them to be. But when Peter was trapped on that bed, Skip’s ragged breathing and bare skin above him, he blamed himself. He had let it get to this point. He had not stopped it. So he let his guardian thrust in him again, and a familiar numbness settled over him. 

He might have laughed. Ben’s numbness revolved around death. But what did this situation have anything to do with death? 

“That’s it, Einstein.” Skip was gasping with each movement of his hips. “Good boy. You’re so good for me, Peteypie. So good for me.” 

Years later, people would tell him that it was his innocence dying that had triggered such emotions. He was not so sure. He had not been innocent for a long time. 

  
  


He is in Skip’s care for three months before someone finds out. Peter is handcuffed to the bed when the police storm in. His guardian is on top. He was always on top, always dominating. Always taking. 

The men shot first and never asked questions. Once they had taken Skip away and sent him to the station, the officers who remained helped secure Peter. His wrists were raw and bleeding from being restrained for so long. His ribs poked through his exposed skin and the bags under his eyes were darker than the storm clouds outside the bedroom window. Once he was coherent enough to truly understand what was going on, he was horrified to realize one of the officers was one of Ben’s old partners. 

George Stacy recognized Peter on the spot. 

“Oh, kid,” the man’s eyes immediately filled with tears. He and Ben had been closer than brothers. To see Peter like this was probably painful. Peter was not sure he had the energy to care. He just wanted to sleep. He did not know when the last time he truly slept was. “We’re going to get you out of here and safe, okay? I’m gonna do Ben proud, I promise.” 

He was taken to a hospital. It was nice to feel alive again, even if it only was for a little while. Part of him prayed Captain Stacy would be his foster dad. He did not think someone as kind as Captain Stacy would ever do what Skip had done. 

Then again, he had not thought Skip was capable of such evil either. 

His prayers went unheard, and once he was cleared from the hospital, a car arrived to take him back to the foster home. The only information he learned about his rapist was that his parents had posted his bail, and all Peter got was a flimsy restraining order. Not that it mattered. Skip had left New York City to go work in North Carolina. He would not be back anytime soon. 

Steven Westcott got to walk away. 

Peter Parker did not. 

  
  


Spiderman flourished. He was the hero of Queens. He saved people, tackled problems no one else dared solve. He took down gunmen and rapists. As the Avengers fought crazy robots and Hydra, he battled the scum of the alleys and the petty thieves. He took care of his city like the Avengers took care of the world. 

Spiderman was worth something. Spiderman was not scared of shadows or men with blonde hair. Spiderman did not shy away from touches and Spiderman did not have an aversion to the scent of rust. Spiderman hugged kids he saved. He accepted high fives from police officers and he blushed at cheek kisses from wives whose husbands he had returned safely. 

Spiderman was a hero. 

Peter was a coward.

  
  


“Someone’s here for you.” 

Peter glanced up from  _ The Two Towers _ long enough to meet Stacia’s eyes. “Hmm?”

The caretaker clicked her tongue at his unresponsiveness. She had a clipboard in her hands. “Someone is here to take you. Foster dad. You want one of those, right? Or would you rather stay here and take up more space that could be used for a kid who actually deserves it?”

He rolled his eyes and began to get his things together. As she left, he grumbled, “No kid deserves  _ this _ .”

Peter was not about to get his hopes up. He would be back here soon enough. 

Stacia was the same woman who had picked him up at Ben’s funeral and from the hospital after the “Westcott debacle”, as she liked to call it. She liked renaming things to make them sound less of a big deal. It had been a month since he had seen Skip, eight months since Ben had died and Peter had lost everything. He had tried to be nice to the other kids in the orphanage, but lots of them did not give him the time of day, so it was hard to make friends. The younger ones liked him a whole bunch, though, and they kind of made up for Peter feeling so alone. He missed Ned. 

As he made his way down the stairs, a familiar voice flowed from Hariss’s office. It was a voice that Peter would have recognized anywhere. 

What the heck was Tony Stark doing here?

“... plenty of other children you could choose, Mister Stark. Much better-behaved kids, younger kids who don’t have as many behavior issues. If you want to follow me to meet the toddlers or the eight and nine-year olds-,” 

“The kid is fine,” Mister Stark’s voice exuded businessman. Peter had seen enough press conferences to know an authoritative answer from the man when he heard it. Whatever kid that Mister Stark had chosen was the one he wanted. He was not about to be swayed. 

“Peter is a troubled teen, Mister Stark. He’s practically the poster child for the stereotypical “foster kid”.”

“I wonder why that is,” The hero’s voice dripped with so much sarcasm that Peter missed the fact that they were talking about him for a second. 

Peter. That was his name. 

Tony Stark had come for  _ him _ ?

Stacia rounded the corner and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t eavesdrop. You’re being rude.” 

“They’re talking about  _ me _ .” He yanked, stumbling backward into the hallway wall. The throb on his shoulder did not stop him from turning and advancing towards Hariss’s office. The door was closed, but Peter’s enhanced hearing continued to pick up on the conversation just fine.

“Mister Stark, I don’t want you to be saddled with a burden like Peter. He’s stubborn, rebellious, rude. He barely talks to anyone and he prefers the company of children to anyone his age. I’m not sure-,”

“I was all that and worse, Mister Hariss. I turned out alright, don’t you think?”

Peter could hardly believe that they were talking about him. Tony Stark was here for him, of all people. Even Hariss’s demeaning words were not enough to spoil his excitement. He did not care what Mister Stark wanted with him, as long as he got out of this place. 

“Sir, if you just-,”

“I think I’ll go find Peter now, Mister Hariss. All the paperwork is done. My legal team will be contacting you shortly about the permanence of this arrangement. Good day.” footsteps. Oh, God, he was coming outside. 

Peter quickly adjusted his backpack and took a few steps back to make it look like he’d just come down the stairs. He cleared his throat and licked his lips as anxiety festered in his stomach. His hands danced across his pants as he wrestled to stay still. He had to make a good impression. This was  _ Tony Stark _ . 

“I’ll go and fetch him, sir, you don’t have to-,”

“Nonsense,” the door opened and light flooded the corridor. Stacia appeared at Peter’s back, hand curled around his shoulder. She knew of the scars that hid there. She did not care. Peter forced himself to school his expression to not give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. No, not even she could ruin this moment. “I’d rather see the kid myself. Anything to escape your insufferable presence.” 

That got Hariss, it did, and with the answering silence at his back, Tony Stark stepped out of the office. Immediately, his eyes rose to Peter’s, and the world stopped for a moment. They both stared at each other, captivated by the other’s existence. For several perfect seconds, they were the only two people in the entire world. 

“Um, hi there. You must be Peter.” the harsh sarcasm that had filled his tone seconds earlier had been replaced by fond curiosity. The billionaire looked so out of place in his suit and fancy sunglasses. He stepped towards the fifteen-year-old, a smile tilting his lips. He held out a hand. “I’m Tony.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Stark,” Peter managed, probably looking like a kid on Christmas. “I - I’m a huge fan of your work, sir. Your research into AI technology is incredible, sir. The Jarvis specs alone are enough to-,” 

“Be quiet, Peter.” Stacia snapped, brushing past him to hand Tony a manilla folder. “I’m sure Mister Stark doesn’t care about your useless information. Here you are, Mister Stark.” 

“I happen to be more than intrigued about what the kid has to say.” The inventor’s eyes narrowed behind his shades and he glanced at the folder. “I don’t like being handed things. Pete, will you take that for me? There’s a good lad. Now, I think Regina George over here interrupted our handshake. Can we try again?”

Peter eagerly took the hand offered to him, grinning like a madman. “It’s a real honor, Mister Stark.”

“The honors all mine, kid.” Mister Stark smiled back. “Thanks for nothing, sweetheart. We’ll be going now.” 

He steered Peter down the hallway and out of the orphanage. 

“So, your history is pretty dicey, huh, kid?” Mister Stark hummed as they exited the building. A sleek black car was parked directly in front of them. A burly man sat in the front seat, his pair of sunglasses matching Mister Stark’s. “I’m really sorry about your family, kiddo.” 

It was not the first time one of his foster parents had said that to him, but it was the first time that Peter believed they meant it. “It’s not your fault, sir.”

They met eyes again and it was not uncomfortable. Peter had a feeling they understood each other quite well. The man might understand him better than anyone else had in a long time. The hero smiled faintly. “No. But I have a feeling that you think it’s yours.” 

Peter blinked and looked away, feeling heat swell in his cheeks. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. We’ll have to work on that. We can’t  _ both  _ have guilt complexes. Nothing will ever get done.” 

“Sorry, Mister Stark.” 

“Oh, that is going to get old really fast,” The man cringed. “I’m Tony, kid. You don’t have to call me Mister Stark or anything. That was my dad. I prefer something a little more casual. That okay?” 

It was more than okay, but Peter simply nodded. Tony helped him into the car, hesitating slightly when he realized the kid only had one bag of belongings. “This everything you want to bring, Bud? I don’t plan on bringing you back anytime soon.” 

Peter’s excitement fizzled. There it was. He did not plan on bringing him back anytime  _ soon _ . 

But sometime. 

The smile he mustered was painful. “That’s all I have Mister -,” an amused glare stopped him. “Tony.”

Tony scowled but put the bag in the trunk all the same. He climbed into the back next to Peter and nodded towards his driver. “That’s Happy, by the way. He’ll be your chauffeur.”

The fifteen-year-old wrung his hands. “Not that I’m not grateful, T-Tony, but what is this all about?”

There was the crux of the matter. Peter was thrilled to be going home with one of the most brilliant men in the entire world, even if it was only for a little while, but he had no idea why. He was not anything special. He was an orphan from Queens who had nothing to offer but a homemade suit and a very detailed knowledge of  _ The Lord of the Rings _ and  _ Star Wars _ . What did a great man like Tony Stark want with him?

“What, I can’t do something nice for a fellow orphan?” 

Peter snorted. “As awesome as you are, Mister Stark, I find that hard to believe.”

“Tony,” the man stressed. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back against the seats. “You got me, kiddo. I need your help.”

“Me?” 

“Well, Spiderman specifically, but when I heard-,”

“Oh.” Peter’s heart dropped. He was not even surprised that Tony knew. Unlike Peter, he was a genius. He curled into himself and any happiness he had been feeling disappeared like the sun behind dark clouds. He did not want Peter. How stupid could he get? Of course Tony Stark would not need Peter Parker. He needed Spiderman. Spiderman was worth something.

“Hey, kid, eyes up here.” 

He obeyed. Skip had always hit him when he disobeyed. 

Tony’s gaze was so kind. The joking manner which they had been reveling in before was gone, replaced by genuine care. “Let me finish. I want Spiderman’s help, yes, but when I heard your story, I decided that maybe I could help you out too. It’s not forever, and if you don’t want it just say so, but I know what it’s like to be alone. You’re a good kid, Pete. I want to… I think we’d be good for each other.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “So, are you like, my guardian?”

Tony chuckled. “Something like that.” 

He thought for a moment. The other adults he had been with cycled through his brain. None of them could measure up to Iron Man. He was getting the chance of a lifetime here. He needed to take it and run with it as far as Tony would let him. 

“So, what do you need Spiderman for.” 

“You ever been to Berlin?”

“No. I don’t even have a passport.”

“Oh, you’ll love it.” 

_ It’s not forever. _

That was okay. Peter would be grateful for what he got. It was more than he deserved.

  
  


When Tony came back from Siberia, he was different. 

Peter was sporting some recently broken ribs and a concussion when his guardian finally woke up in the Medbay. Happy had run to catch a few hours of sleep and he had offered to take the bodyguard’s place. He curled up in one of those awful hospital chairs with one of Tony’s old jackets draped over his legs like a blanket and waited. He would be lying if he said he had not been terrified when Happy had rolled Tony in on that stretcher. The blood was enough to make his stomach turn and while Happy had forbidden him from entering the room with the doctors, he could still hear everything loud and clear. 

Tony’s heart had almost flatlined twice. It was not something that Peter was going to forget anytime soon. 

He was in the fourth chapter of  _ The Deathly Hallows _ when Tony’s raspy voice called out, “Are you always reading, kid?”

Peter jumped in surprise, the book falling out of his hands and into the floor. “Mister Stark!”

“What did I say about calling me that, Bud?” his mentor smirked weakly. 

“Sorry, sorry!” the kid scrambled to pick up his book and put it on one of the tables near the bed. “Do you want anything, Tony? Happy just left to get some sleep, but I’m sure he would come if you needed-,”

“Nah, let the old man be,” Tony waved him off. “He needs his beauty sleep; you’ve seen his ugly mug.”

Peter was not sure if he should laugh. “What can I do?”

The billionaire stared at him for a few seconds as if he was analyzing him. He must have found something he liked because he smiled softy. His voice was equally tender when he answered, “Some water would be nice, kiddo.” 

Immediately, the boy stood to fulfill the request. He brought the refreshment back to his guardian and helped him sit up to drink. Peter could hear Tony’s steady heartbeat and his own pulse stopped racing. They were safe. 

Ben’s dead eyes flashed across his eyelids. He shook his head. 

They were safe. 

“You okay, Pete?” 

The gentle tone made him jolt. He could not remember Tony ever talking like that. Glancing up, he found friendly eyes searching his own. There was something so soothing about Tony’s gaze. In that car from the orphanage, as they had made his new Spiderman suit, when he had helped Peter when he had fallen in the airport. There was a softness to Tony Stark that he was not sure other people knew about. 

He adored it. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, his throat suddenly tight with emotion. Why was he being like this? Tony was okay. He was alive, breathing. He was holding Peter’s hand in his own at that very moment. All of a sudden, his parents appeared in his mind, bodies broken laid out on the medical tables. His mother’s arm was falling off the side. His father’s face was broken and unrecognizable. The plane had done the job of a meat mincer on his parents. May appeared beside them, body completely split in two from falling concrete. The Chitauri had blown apart their apartment building. She had thrown Peter out the window into the waiting arms of a fireman. She was too late to save herself. The blood around her stomach was so dark compared to her white skin. Her glasses were askew on her broken nose. Ben materialized on her right, one hand stretching towards his wife. He was never able to reach her. The hole in his chest seemed bottomless. His body was cold, Peter could tell without ever having to feel it. They were all so cold...

“Kid? Peter! Peter, come back to me, bud! What’s wrong?” 

The tables disappeared. All that was left was Tony. He stared at the man, blinking slowly. He had not realized tears were forming in his eyes until one fell down his cheek. What  _ was  _ wrong? 

Then it came to him. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Tony understood. He did. After all the loss he had experienced, he understood perfectly. “Oh, Buddy. I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

_ Don’t leave me. _

“Promise.”

_ I won’t.  _

  
  


Tony and Peter’s entire dynamic changed after that day in the Medbay. Suddenly, he and Tony were doing Peter’s math homework together. They were dancing to Disney songs in the lab. They were making dinner together and Tony took a second chance on  _ Star Wars _ for him. Suddenly, Peter’s life was filled with laughter, something that he had not truly experienced in… forever it seemed. Tony was his teacher, his friend, and his guardian all at once. He was there for anything and everything. Peter felt almost loved when he was with him. 

It had been almost a year since Ben’s death and he finally felt like he belonged somewhere. 

He had felt like he belonged with Skip too. 

The horrible thought surfaced in his happiest moments like his brain could not let him have one minute’s peace. Each good thing was set back by the insecurities that overwhelmed him in the dark recesses of his soul. They attached when Tony grinned so broadly at the kid he complained it hurt his cheeks or when Peter was overcome with spontaneous giggles at something Dum-E and U had done. They arose when he was collapsed on the couch beside his guardian, head rolled onto his shoulder and blanket covering the both of them. 

The thoughts always reminded him that he was Peter Parker, and good things never lasted for him. They never would. The bad things always won and he was once again left alone and unwanted. 

Broken. 

He forced a smile for Tony and prayed that he could have this for just a little while longer. 

  
  


The bad thing happened. 

“I just wanted to be like you!” 

Tony looked heartbroken as the words left his kid’s mouth. It was almost as if he could not possibly understand why Peter would want to be anything like him, like he did not understand how truly horrible Tony was. 

“And I wanted you to be better.” 

Peter’s eyes brimmed with tears. How could he say that? How could Peter ever be better than Tony Stark? Peter was  _ nothing  _ compared to him. He was worthless and disgusting and ruined goods. Hell, he could not even be a superhero correctly, if the day’s events proved anything. He was a kid who had been passed from one person to the next, never staying in the same place. Not belonging anywhere. 

He was an idiot to believe that it could last. 

“Okay, it's not working out. I'm gonna need the suit back.” 

Peter’s heart stopped. “W-what?”

Tony held out a hand, flicking his fingers. “You heard me, kiddo. Hand it over.” 

“For how long?”  _ Don’t take this too, please. I can’t live without Spiderman, Tony. Please. It’s all I’m good for.  _

“Forever.” 

The stuttering in his brain was not enough and the words tumbled from his shaking lips. “No, no, Tony,  _ please _ .” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that's how it works, Peter.” Tony shook his head, and if Peter had been able to see through his tears he would have noticed the pain in his guardian’s eyes. “Let’s have it.” 

He felt like he was with Skip again. He had no control, everything was spiraling into a darkness that he could not climb out of. There was too much noise and light. Nothing would ever be okay again. 

_ That’s it, Einstein.  _

He had to make Tony understand. 

_ Good boy. _

He was shaking. “You don't understand! Please, this is all I have! I'm nothing without this suit!”

“Oh,  _ I  _ don’t understand?” Tony snarled, hands fisting at his sides. Peter had never seen this Tony before. Up to this point, the farthest negative emotion he had seen aimed towards him was frustration after Peter came home from patrols with injuries that Tony had not known about. This was anger. Pure, Tony Stark anger that he had only heard about from other people. “I had suits for everything, kid. I’ve made them such a huge part of me to the point where one is attached to my wrist everywhere I go. I understand. I’m trying to save you. So, if you’re nothing without this suit then you shouldn’t have it!” 

He froze for a second, hanging his head. “God, I sound like my dad.” 

Peter swallowed. His mouth had become dry. His eyes had not. “I don’t have any other clothes.” 

Tony glanced up and his tone softened slightly. “Okay. We’ll sort that out.” 

And just like that, Peter’s world crumbled  _ again _ . 

Peter remembered the one time he had tried to resist Skip. His words seemed prevalent now, more prevalent then they had ever been. 

“No one wants you, Petey,” he had said, sneer overtaking his lips. His searing hands worked under his shirt. He remembered not being able to breathe. “You’re worth nothing to anyone but me. You have no one else.”

His hot mouth had branded Peter’s, sucking his will out like a vacuum and the boy fell.

Peter guessed he was right. 

“May?” 

There was no answer. 

“I screwed up.” 

What had she said once? Before his entire life had gone to Hell? “You need to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders”? Yeah, that sounded like May. She had always been there to help him carry it all. She had always known how to make him smile. She had known how to make him happy again. 

Her grave gave no such comfort. 

Tony and he had not spoken since the Ferry. That had been three days ago. Peter had his bags packed. He was ready to go… somewhere. Somewhere he did not cause pain or difficulty. Somewhere he could not hurt anyone anymore.

“I don’t know what to do, May.”

The stars sparkled in the sky above him. 

“May?”

Silence. Nothing but silence. 

Peter scoffed. He did not know what he expected. 

Peter wondered if May felt like this when the concrete fell on her. He was suffocating slowly, the air he was inhaling so infused with dust and dirt that he was probably going to get sick. He coughed, gasping as his lungs screamed in agony. Whimpers and cries escaped his trembling lips. He frantically scrambled to get his homemade mask off, praying that he would not feel so trapped if it was gone. 

Trapped, trapped, trapped. Trapped in his grief, trapped in the system, trapped between Skip’s thighs. 

Trapped. Had his entire life just been one captivity after another?

He had to get out of here. Toomes was still out there. He had to stop him. He had to prove that he was good enough. He had to prove that he was worth something. Spiderman was worth something. “Okay, ready?” 

He pushed with all his strength. He pushed and pushed and felt something crack. A groan of pain was forced out of him and he fell back down, moaning like a child. Useless. He was useless. God, he ruined everything and now he was going to die here, alone. He had destroyed the one good thing that had happened to him in a year; Tony hated him now. 

And now he was going to die. 

He hoped Ben was waiting for him. 

“HELLO?” He screamed. His breaths came quickly, too quickly, and he wept. “HELLO? PLEASE! ANYBODY? PLEASE, I’M DOWN HERE! I’M STUCK! I’M STUCK I CAN’T MOVE! I CAN’T-,” 

His outstretched arm dropped. Bloody fingers stung against the cold stone. 

The puddle below him rippled as his hand brushed the torn mask. The goggles stared back at him and suddenly Tony’s voice filled the air around him. 

_ “If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”  _

He swallowed, squaring his jaw. 

“Come on, Peter. Come on Spiderman.” 

He shifted his weight and braced his arms against the tons of rubble on top of him. 

And then he lifted it. 

Finding his way back to the orphanage was hard when he had three broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. The many lacerations he could easily ignore, but stumbling through the alleys of Queens without being able to breathe correctly was less than desirable. But he did it. He was a survivor. If he could be sure about anything in his life, it was that he survived. Loss, Skip, falling buildings. Peter survived. 

The night was oddly quiet as he stumbled through the darkness. Everything about him hurt but there was a certain peace in the lack of anything around him. New York was always alive, but in this small part of Queens, there was silence. He wondered if silence was always this powerful. 

He rounded the corner he knew so well and stared at the cursed building. He swallowed. Stacia and Hariss were not going to be happy. They would probably make him clean the place from top to bottom and sell his soul to the devil before they let him back inside. 

But… he had nowhere else to go. 

He better get used to being covered in grime again.

He took three wobbly steps towards the stairs when a voice cut through the serenity. 

“PETER!” 

He jerked to a halt, grasping the railing so he did not plummet face-first into the concrete sidewalk. The last thing he needed right now was a broken nose. 

“God, Underoos, I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

Underoos? Only one person had ever called him that.

“Tony?” 

There were hands on his body, turning him around and straight into the concerned gaze of Anthony Edward Stark. 

“Oh my God, Peter. You’re bleeding everywhere. Where else are you hurt? Did you hit your head? What about your ribs? Broken bones? I can’t believe you didn’t call me. Your breathing sounds off. Does your chest hurt? Happy’s on his way now, so just sit tight for a little while longer and we’ll get you back to the Medbay so I can-,”

“What are you doing here?” 

The billionaire stiffened, disbelief coloring his expression. “What?” 

“What are you doing here?” Peter repeated, confusion giving way to fractured frustration. Tears burned the edges of his vision. Geez, the amount of crying he had been doing in the past seventy-two hours was slightly insane. 

“What am I doing here?” Tony sputtered. It was probably the first time Peter had ever seen him struggle for words. “Kid, I came for you. The better question is: what are you doing here?”

Did he not know?

“I thought you would…” Peter gestured to the door. No lights were on inside; he was not even sure that Hariss and Stacia would let him back in, but it was a better option than sleeping in an alley. “I thought after everything that had happened you wouldn’t... want me anymore.” 

Tony’s eyes were pained at the kid’s admission. “Pete, I was angry, yes, but I would never send you back here. Not for the world.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. He felt it. “But I messed up.”

“Kid, messing up is part of life. You know my story well enough to know I messed up more than either of us can count. You’re fifteen, Buddy,” the nickname rolled of Tony’s lips with ease and warmth filled the kid down to his toes, even though he was still confused. “And I didn’t treat the situation right at all. You should never have felt like I would - I mean, I promised this thing wasn’t temporary, remember? You and me, Buddy. I promised. Remember?”

“The others-,”

“I’m not any of the other stupid foster parents you’ve had, Peter,” Tony was in front of him now, eyes frantic with his need to get this stupid kid to understand. He reached up to cup his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs across his freckled skin. “I’m not letting you go, okay? Not now, not ever. You’re  _ my  _ kid.”

“But I’m not good enough.” 

“You are,” Tony held his face even tighter. “You are and - no, look at me, Peter. You are. You hear me? What I said, what I did was stupid. I should have known that you would never stop being a hero just because I took your suit. Because that’s who you are, Butterbean. You’re a hero.” 

Now Peter was even more confused. “Then why-?”

“I was scared,” Tony looked away, but only for a split second before his eyes were back on Peter’s. It was like he was fearful that if he looked away too long Peter would disappear. “Screw that. I was terrified. Peter, I thought that if you went down the same road I did - kiddo, that Ferry incident - you could have  _ died _ .”

“And that would be on you, I know.” 

“No,” Tony sobbed and Peter jumped in shock. Tony Stark did not cry. “No, no, Buddy. No, that’s not what this is. If you died I would … God, I’d be lost, Peter. You’ve only been mine for a few months now, but you’re mine, okay? Hell, I’ve had adoption papers sitting on my desk for weeks now and I just never had the courage to ask because I was so scared you would say no. I hurt you because of my own fear, Peter, and I’m so fucking  _ sorry _ .” 

Tony Stark was crying in front of him. Tony Stark was crying  _ for  _ him. 

“Adoption papers?” 

The hero chuckled wetly, pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Yeah, buddy.”

“You want me?”

“Oh, baby, I want you more than anything in the entire world.” 

Something made sense then. Something clicked into place in Peter’s brain. Somewhere between the ridiculous nicknames and the movie marathons, the fond eyerolls and the adoption papers, he understood. He heard the words that Tony had been saying for weeks now, just without words. Tony Stark had never been good at words when they really mattered, when he had to say the hard things. 

But Peter understood. 

He  _ knew _ . 

“Tony?”

“Yes, Kiddo?” His guardian's smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Peter leaned into his open arms and finally let himself be held. 

This entire time, Tony had been saying ‘I love you’, in every way he knew how. 

“Let’s go home.” 

Turned out that Tony was  _ big  _ on nicknames. After the adoption papers were signed and approved, there was not a nickname that the man did not try. The most regular ones were Butterbean, Kiddie (or Kiddo), and Roo. Peter was not sure why the last one existed, but it was his favorite. He had a suspicion that it had a double meaning, because Tony liked to call him Underoos too. But Miss Potts had once told him after hearing the nickname that Maria Stark used to call Tony that too. 

The nicknames continued as the weeks turned into months. Each time a new one appeared, Peter would preen, cheeks dusted with red and glee running through his body, his veins turning gold like sunshine. He would become so flustered and look everywhere else, especially when Tony called him ‘baby’, with those big adoring eyes and tone that sounded so much like a father it made Peter melt. 

However, there was one nickname that Peter could not bear to hear. 

Tony had only used it a few times, and each time he had pushed through the horrible feelings. Peteypie made him freeze and shake. He broke out in sweat and could not breathe. He could smell Skip’s scent, could hear his heavy pants. He was trapped again, handcuffed to that disgusting bed with no one but his rapist and his demons as company. No one to save him. 

Yeah, Peteypie was a no-go.

Not that Tony knew any of that. Not that he knew anything about Skip besides the fact that he had been one of Peter’s foster parents. Because Peter was a minor and the orphanage had real sway whether they wanted Peter’s name on the case, the child Skip had assaulted remained anonymous in the report. Tony knew about the death of his family, but he knew nothing about the death of his innocence. 

He intended to keep it that way. 

However, his life had other plans. 

They were working on an upgraded Ironman suit when it happened. The two were so comfortable together, especially in the lab. Tools were thrown back and forth, solutions bounced back and forth. Whenever Peter struggled with insecurity, Tony was there to grab his hand and kiss his forehead, reminding him of truth. They were two halves of one whole, you could say. 

Peter had just fixed a problem with the propulsion size in the boots. Tony had grinned proudly and clapped him on the back. “Good job, Peteypie!” 

The world came to a halt around him. Those nights of bondage surrounded him and filled his senses. Skip’s arms were around him, choking him. He could not breathe. A gag was put in his mouth. Rope slid around his ankles and wrists, already burning his skin there. His clothes were gone, had been taken off a long time ago. He was shaking with chill and terror, but the numbness was already setting it. He could not fight this. He had tried once, had failed. He was only this - only a toy for Skip’s perverted pleasure. He was nothing else. 

He would never be anything else than-

“Kid? Kid, come back to me, Butterbean. I’m right here. We’re in the Tower, remember? The lab on our floor. Listen to my voice, baby, I’m here. I’m not leaving. I promised, remember? Can you hear me, baby? It’s Tony.”

The world lurched back into focus so quickly Peter stumbled. Tony was there to catch him. “Whoa, whoa. Hey, it’s alright. I’m here, Peter. I’m here.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“What, Butterbean?” 

“Peteypie,” he gasped, the name coming out of his lips like a burning coal. He gripped Tony’s arms so tightly he was sure they would bruise later. “Please don’t - I can’t handle - it’s too much and I-,”

“Okay, okay, that nickname is off the table.” His guardian nodded, rubbing up and down Peter’s spine. “Shh, shh, no more of that. I get it, Kiddo. No problem. I’ll never say it again, okay? Baby?”

Peter nodded, but he could not find it in himself to do anything else. He was suddenly overwhelmed by emotions. Usually, he would run off to his room to regroup. He would let his guard down for a little while, feign sickness maybe, and cry. He would let all his terror out in one fell swoop and then he would be okay again. 

He did not have time now, and he did not think Tony would let him run. 

“You have to talk to me, Bud. I can’t fix this if you don’t talk to me.”

Peter swallowed, throat tight. “I - Skip, he… I didn’t want it, Tony, I swear I didn’t.”

Tony lowered them both to the ground. He continued to gently reassure Peter through comforting touches. Up and down his back, around his shoulders, through his sweaty curls. Everything he knew would ground the boy. “Shh, take a deep breath, baby. You’ll make yourself sick.” 

Tony knew that particular endearment was Peter’s favorite. It was what a parent called their precious child, their  _ baby _ . 

Peter did as Tony suggested. The breath that came from his mouth was shaky and shallow at best, but it was better than him hyperventilating until he passed out. Tony was patient as his kid slowly got his gasping under control, steady and constant. Tony was constant. 

He used to think that Skip was constant too. 

He was not constant when Tony was around. 

That alone gave Peter the courage to speak. 

“Steven Westcott. He was the foster parent I was with before - before you,” the hero knew that much, and nodded his understanding. Peter swallowed again. “But - but he was nothing like you.” 

“Did he like pineapples or something?” 

Peter’s expression was enough to cause the humor to dissipate. “No jokes. I can do that. Sorry, Peter. I’m sorry, that was insensitive. Please continue.” 

“He was mean,” Peter’s hands acted of their own accord. His body unconsciously wanted to be closer to Tony. His fingers touched the man’s beard softly, feeling the scruff beneath his nails. The man’s dark eyes searched his child’s face, desperate for some answer, some solution to a problem he did not know how to solve. “Really mean.” 

“Mean how, Butterbean?” 

“He - he would hit me,” and suddenly, Peter could not stop talking. All his fear was replaced with the need to just tell someone. He had never spoken about it to anyone, not a peep, and now the person he trusted most in the world, the only person who had wanted him just for him since Ben had died, was staring at him with such open and accepting eyes that he could not resist. “And he would tell me awful things. He would say that no one would want me, that I wasn’t useful to anyone but him. He convinced me that I was nothing but his little toy and he-,”

Peter choked, hands shaking as they retreated to cover his face. “He raped me.”

Gentle fingers pride his hands away. They wiped away his tears and brought him into a warm embrace. They held him like he was a child, and he was. Peter was a child. He was strong but he was a  _ child _ . He should not have this weight on his shoulders. He should have to fight so hard to be young. 

“I love you,” Tony whispered. He pressed his lips to Peter’s hair. “I love you, Peter. I love you more than anything else in the entire world and nothing will change that. This knowledge does not change anything. You’re still my kid. You’re still the most important person in my life. You’re still the most precious thing to me. This does not make you unloveable.” 

Peter sighed into him, drained and hurting and so exhausted. He was so tired of feeling so broken. 

“Peter. Peter, look at me, Pumpkin.” 

He did. 

“You are not unloveable.” 

Tony’s eyes garnered no argument. 

“You are  _ not  _ unloveable. Do you hear me?”

He nodded. 

“It’s okay, Peter. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sixteen year old gulped past his sobs. “I didn’t want it, Tony. I tried to fight him. He - I had my powers. I could have stopped him.”

“No.” Tony snapped, making sure he had his kid’s attention before continuing. “This is not your fault, do you hear me? Nothing about this is your fault. You were -  _ are  _ a kid, Peter. The only person to blame is that bastard who did this to you. Who I am going to skin alive, by the way.” 

Peter scoffed tearfully. “He was an ass.” 

Tony did not appear to take the jest at all. “I am going after that monster for touching you. He turned himself into your nightmare, so I’m going to become his. He’s going to rue the fucking day he ever-,”

“Tony.”

His guardian’s grip tightened. “Yes, kiddo?” 

“I love you too.” 

And that was enough. It did not fix anything. Peter had still been raped. He still fought those demons. But he no longer fought alone. 

Steven Westcott was sentenced to life in prison. 

He was also missing an eye when the police arrested him. No one could ever discern why.

“Mister Hariss said you were rebellious,” Tony scoffed fondly. “I want to know what his definition is because it definitely isn’t sneaking out on Friday nights to get drunk and do drugs.”

Peter raised his eyes from the equation he was factoring into his suit’s coding system. He was curled up on the couch in his and Tony’s personal quarters, a blanket draped over his body.  _ Star Wars: The Force Awakens _ was being pulled up on the TV.  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ sat next to his hip, bookmark settled into the page he had just finished reading. He shrugged. “Beats me, Dad. Want to watch Star Wars with me?”

They both froze. 

Tony was the first to recover. Without a second hesitation, he settled beside Peter, running his hands through the kid’s hair. “Can’t imagine anything else I’d rather be doing. Spending time with my son? Perfect way to end a stressful day. Don’t you think?”

And that was it. 

It was the easiest change that Peter had ever experienced. 

It was also the best.

“Do you do that anymore?” 

Rhodey’s quiet question pulled Peter from the Calculus he was working on. He followed the war hero’s line of sight to the scars on his wrist. 

“No.” he replied, just as gentle. Across the room, Tony looked up at the pair, eyes softening. He had seen the scars before. 

“Why did you start?” his uncle continued, tracing one of the larger ones with his thumb. 

“My aunt died.” 

“I’m sorry, Squirt.”

“I’ll survive,” Peter shrugged off the pain. It was a skill most kids his age did not have, that horrible ability to shoulder the pain like it was nothing. Years of loss did that to you. “I always do.” 

Rhodey tapped his chin. “You will. We’re survivors. That’s what Starks do, right? ” 

Warmth bloomed in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

  
  


“Dad, Dad, wake up,” Peter shook him viciously, harder than the last two times. Tony’s eyes did not open. He could not hear a heartbeat. Terror sunk into every part of his body. He could not handle this. He would not be able to make it if Tony died. Tony had said he would be lost if Peter died. 

The feeling was mutual. 

“Don’t do this, Dad. Please, please, I’m begging you. Wake up. Wake up!” 

Fire raged around them. In the distance, he could hear Rhodey screaming their names. Somewhere, Quentin Beck was unconscious and webbed to a wall. But here, in the crumbling ruins of Peter’s heart, the world burned. 

“Please don’t leave me.” 

A heartbeat that Peter knew better than his own and a gasp. 

Tony’s eyes fluttered open.

  
  


“The media wants to know if you’re my illegitimate son.”

“Just tell them I’m your legitimate son through adoption. Why do I have to be some mistake that you made whilst in a drunken stupor?”

“Mistake is slightly harsh.”

“Well, it would fit into my tragic backstory.”

“Peter…” 

“Some people are just born with tragedy in their blood.” 

Tony looked at him, smile soft. “Kiddo, I’m kind of the expert on not becoming what you’re born into.”

His son looked up. “What a pair we make, huh?”

“What a pair indeed.” 

  
  


Peter was scared. 

He exhaled shakily, helping Tony off the dusty ground. “You okay, Dad?” 

His father nodded, holding his bleeding middle. “Nothing a few bandages won’t fix. What about you? And don’t you even  _ think  _ about hiding injuries from me again. Not now, Butterbean.”

Even now, on this alien planet with their last hope exchanged for Tony’s life, his dad’s hands stayed gentle as they combed through Peter’s hair. His worried eyes scanned his son’s face and body for answers to his question. “I’m okay, Dad. Really. Just a few bumps and scrapes. My healing factor will fix them all up within a day. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony drawled sarcastically. “Have you met me?”

Mantis interrupted them. “Something is happening.” 

And Peter’s short lived happiness was slain. He watched in horror as she disappeared into the wind like shredded paper. One second she was there and the next she was gone. Tony’s grip on Peter suddenly became all the more tight. Peter reciprocated, a new kind of fear churning inside him. His wide eyes flashed across his dad’s long enough to know how scared the older man really was. “Dad-,”

“Quill?” the green alien reached for his friend and then he was gone too. 

No, no, no. This could not be happening. Peter began to shake. He tried so hard to keep himself together, but when Starlord turned towards them and Tony whispered, “Steady Quill,” he lost it. 

“Dad.” 

Tony brought him close and pressed a fervent kiss to his forehead, turning his face into his neck so he did not see the man from Missouri fade into nothing. 

Thanos had done it. 

Thanos had won.

“ _ Dad _ .”

Peter’s fingers began to buzz. He ignored it. He had to save Tony. That was all that mattered now. Get Tony home, go curl up on their couch, read  _ Lord of the Rings _ to each other and forget that the world was crumbling around them. Peter selfishly tugged on Tony’s sleeve. The hero stepped away, towards Doctor Strange. 

“Tony.” the sorcerer paused, making sure that Tony met his resolute gaze. “There was no other way.” 

Then he too disappeared. 

Peter could not do this. He was not ready. Years ago, he would have been. Under Skip’s care, after Ben’s death, yes. He would have looked down at his decaying hands and felt that it was right. He would have been ready to die. But not now. 

Not when he had something to lose.

“Dad.” 

His father turned around in slow motion. There was so much pain in his eyes. Peter wished he could fix it. He wished he had been stronger. If he could have just gotten the gauntlet off… 

“I don’t feel so good.” 

Tony’s shoulders fell with dawning realization. “No, no, please.” 

“I don't-I don't know what's happening. I don't-,” he collapsed into his dad’s waiting arms. He clawed at Tony’s back, desperately reaching for leverage that would save him. Maybe if he held tight enough. Perhaps if he just clutched fast enough. He whimpered, tears filling his eyes. Everything in the past two years rocked against his chest. The first time he and Tony had met, the fight in the airport. Tony’s promise. The Ferry and their confession in front of the orphanage. The first time that he had called Tony ‘Dad’.

“Shh, shh, baby. I’ve got you. I’m right here. I promised, yeah? I’ll always be right here.” his voice broke on the last word as he tried to keep Peter’s shattered body together. 

“I don't want to go.” he begged. “I don't want to go, Dad. Please. Please, I don't want to go. I don't want to go…” 

He was falling. Tony caught him. They both lowered to the ground. One of his father’s hands was under his head. The other trembled against his cheek. His hands were warm. “I’ve got you, Pete.”

He always had him.

“Dad.”

A fury of devastated looks. The gaze halted at his next words.

“I  _ love  _ you.”

Peter reached up to cup the back of his dad’s head. His fingers became dust before he even touched him. 

He felt death. His body was gone. He strained to meet his father’s broken gaze. 

“I’m sorry.” 

And he was nothing. 

“Avengers!” Cap yelled over the multitude of heroes. “Assemble.” 

“And I am Iron Man.”

  
  


Peter was back in the Medbay and Tony had not woken up yet. He was reminded of the days following Siberia where all he did was read at Tony’s bedside. He had been worried out of his mind then too. He hardly remembered the battle. It had been two weeks ago and the world was scrambling to repair itself after half the population suddenly reappeared. Apparently, the first snap, the one that had left him as a pile of dust on Titan, had been five years before Tony’s snap. Peter would have been twenty-one, almost twenty-two by now. Tony had been trying to figure out a way to bring them back since. There had never been a real way though, not until Scot Lang showed up.

The Avenger has re-assembled, gone back in time, and changed fate. 

Natasha Romanoff had paid with her life. Tony had almost paid with his.

Peter had been in the Medbay himself for burns, near-fatal internal bleeding, and enough stab wounds to make him look like swiss cheese, but his healing factor had taken care of most of those fairly quickly. He was discharged within the first weekend. He did not move very far. 

The chairs had not improved since the last time he had taken up a midnight vigil. They were still uncomfortable and cold and not at all easy to sleep in. Rhodey and Strange both tried to get him to sleep on the couch at least, but he refused. That was his dad. He was going to be right by his side when he woke up. 

Emphasis on  _ when _ .

Two weeks came and went, and Peter had made it to  _ The Return of the King _ by that Saturday. His fingers turned the battered pages quietly, humming quietly to himself as he read aloud. Tony always loved it when Peter read to him. It quieted the demons in both their minds, he thought. 

“‘ _ And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and’ _ -.”

“‘He beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

It was a voice that Peter knew better than his own, a soul so tightly knitted to his that their eternal shadows were inseparable. He had finished the line perfectly. The book fell out of Peter’s hands and neither of them cared. Tears were reflected back in their gazes.

“Peter,” Tony breathed. 

“Hey Dad,” he replied, just as broken and beautiful and loving. “You miss me?”

He saw Tony’s fingers lift and he moved immediately. Careful not to juggle him too much, he crawled into the bed with his dad. He buried himself into his arms, crying against his chest. Tony did not seem to mind. He bawled into his son’s hair, kissing all over his face in between sobs. He counted all the freckles he had forgotten, noted the different shades of brown that were in his hair. He mourned all the days he had not been able to do this, sobbed for the years lost between him and his precious  _ baby _ .

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right?” Peter whispered. 

Tony’s breath caught. 

“It doesn’t always roll that way,” he continued softly. “Maybe just this once, everything's gonna work out exactly the way it's supposed to.”

When Peter had watched the recorded message with Rhodey, he had broken down. Tony had left it to him in case he died saving the universe. It was not terribly long, but it expressed all of Tony’s love for his son. 

“It did work out, Dad. You won.”

Tony gasped. 

“You won, Dad. You did it.” 

He pulled his son even further into his embrace and wept. 

“I love you, baby.” 

“I love you too, Dad.” 

  
  


Peter Parker and Tony Stark had fought their entire lives. 

Now, they could finally rest. 

**Author's Note:**

> .... comment?


End file.
